Sixty Three...

... sheets of used and balled up tissue paper,
52... loud-blow-your-brains-out-sneezes
44... spoonfulls of wasted food coz the medicines make everything taste like saw-dust
31... hours of fitful and snore-punctuated sleep
15... pissin-off-there-but-not-there-almost-sneezes
5... concerned but slightly germ-wary friends
2... leaky yet totally blocked, very rubbed and red nostrils
1... big fat pain-in-the-ass common cold attack!

So that's about my weekend. How was yours?

Where do the children play?

Every thing's as usual. I'm sitting in office freezing and cursing the AC vent, as usual. The Killers are crooning through my headphones as I tap away at my keyboard, very much as usual. When the day is done, I will feel the usual gladness as I shut down my laptop. I will feel my ears popping as I go down 41 floors in the elevator, as usual. I will walk past swanky shoe and dress shops all advertising christmas sales, on my way to the MRT, quite as usual. I will stare blankly at my reflection on the platform doors at the station waiting for the train and then I will fight my way into the train and nod to the music on my headphones as I head on home- All very very usual. My life is going on as usual and nothing seems different. 

Yet something is. Different. I can feel it.

I can feel it every time I call home- In the insecurity in my mom's voice, in everything she tells me and even more in everything that she doesn't. I feel it every time google desktop pops up a news article on Bombay, that it thinks I may be interested in, and it always tells repeatedly of the carnage that happened. I feel it in the way voices become solemn and thoughtful anytime friendly conversation veers towards the B-word. There is something different and in a wrong way. Different about Bombay, different about me.

There is so much I should want to say, so much I should want to shout out, but I can't. Some part of me has stopped feeling, stopped caring. I look at the whole thing with a shrug. I have given up- on Bombay, on India, on any othr part of this world. I am giving up on ever feeling secure anywhere again. I am doing what Bombay-ites have been so praised for doing. I am walking on. And I'm not proud of it.

Leaving on a Jetplane? Yeah more like the jetplane leaving without me!

Last monday I missed a flight for the first time ever. (When I told this to friends, most just ignored the first part and jumped to the second. "Really? For the first time ever? YOU haven't managed to miss a flight before? YOU got through 22 years of flying without ever missing a flight?" Yes, thank you for the show of confidence!)

Anyways, missing a flight was a very confusing experience. Yes, confusing. Because I can't recall feeling consistently the same way throughout the whole thing. Feelings came in waves and phases, and oh, all so different and conflicting. For the benfit of anyone interested, I will chronicle this event in detail. (Warning: The following text may be disturbing to some and may cause a change in your opinion of me. Reader discretion is advised.)

Some background: My flight was at 7:40am on Monday. The previous night I had gone to sleep at 1 am in the night. I also have a new phone on which I set my morning alarm, on the fateful Sunday night.

Monday, 6:35 am: I woke up with a start and lazily reached out for my phone to check the time. I was pretty sure the alarm hadn't rung and hence the 'lazy' stretching. Upon seeing the actual time on the phone, I first went into denial. ("Ah this is bangkok time, so in singapore it's still actually 5:35am. Plenty of time. Oh wait, din I change my phone to Singapore time yesterday? Shit Shit Shit") In a record time of 5 mins, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, wore my clothes, called a cab, grabbed my bags and left home.
Primary Feelings- Disbelief, Tinge of panic

Monday, 6:45 am: I started pacing frantically near the bus stop below my home, dishevelled, sleepy and frantic, waiting for the cab to arrive. I get a call on my phone. It's the cab driver. "Where u ah? I wait long time for you here". When I informed him of my location, he dove into a tirade of complaints and whining. " U know, u give me wrong location ah. I oredi at Bus stop, u not here. Cannot this way lah!" Much against the fact that I had actually given the right location and that he was infact standing in the wrong location (well its my post, so I get to tell the story my way), I apologised and simply begged him to get to me quickly
Primary feelings- Frustration, Desperation

Monday, 7:05am-After 2 more equally-retarded phone conversations with the Taxi driver, (TD: I reach dead end, how to get to your block from here ah? Me: Huh?), checking my watch a million times, and swearing at everything repeatedly (stupid taxi driver, stupid phone, stupid flight times, stupid travelling, stupid me!), the taxi driver finally arrived. But before I could send a silent prayer to god and set off speeding towards the airport, the taxi driver launched into a tirade of complaints in a way that only singaporean taxi drivers can manage- (and I quote the conversation verbatim only coz it is so hilarious)

TD: U tell me wrong place. I got wait for you and you stand here. not right u know. Must tell right place lah!
Me: It's ok. Just take me to the airport
TD: No is not ok. Cannot do this way u know. Ur mistake!
Me: Ok fine, its my mistake, sorry. Can we now please just go to the airport really quick. I am really late for my flight!
TD: PIE very crowded you know. cannot quick. Right now when I come, was jammed. Ur flight, what time ah?
Me: 7:40
TD: U know must reach airport 1 hour before flight. Cannot do like this ah! flight close oredi mah!
Me (in my head) : Oh really? A whole one hour? I did not know that!!!

So yeah, tolerating 1st rate complaining and 3rd rate driving, I made my way to airport, thinking to myself- Shit, I'm not going to make it!
Primary feelings: Irritation, Anger, Impatience

Monday, 7:30 am- I reached the airport finally and walked upto the check-in counter, still hopeful that I could get onto the flight (how retarded can my optimism get). Of course, I ended up checking into the next available flight which was only at 12:20, a whole 4 hours away.
Primary feelings: (Blank)

Monday, 7:45am- The first thing I realised once I was no longer trying to catch a flight, was that my stomach was grumbling. So I sat at a cafe, drank orange juice and sorted the contents of my hand bag (simply coz I was bored and my hand bag was really heavy. It seemed logical at the time). And what a wide array of pointless things. 4 pens- all in working order, 3 pairs of earrings- all too big for me to wear to work, 2 samsonite keys- to god knows which lock, 1 measuring inch tape- Don't ask. What was more glaring were the things I was missing- No iPod, no passport photo, no return itinerary (last two for visa on arrival at bangkok). Anyways, over the next four hours I caught up on personal emails and calls that I had been putting off, I sorted out my personal post that I had been carrying around in a bundle (and most of it was junk), and actually got some productive work done. So by the time I made my way to the boarding gate, I was actually feeling pretty good about myself.
Primary feelings- relief, unexplicable laughter, satisfaction

PS- I realise this post seems a little incomplete. That is only coz recounting the events of monday has gotten me as tired as the events themselves did. And I think I prefer to go sleep or do something equally unproductive. Cherio!

Currently Reading: Sawasdee- Thai Airways inflight magazine
Currently Listening: Hold you in my arms- Ray lamontagne, Volcano- Damien Rice, kabhi kabhi aditi zindagi- Jaane tu ya jaane na